Inadmissible Evidence
by Sunrays and Moonbeams
Summary: Collecting evidence without a warrant and conducting illegal searches: is this any way for two professional investigators to behave? (GSR, WIP, please R&R )
1. What Worries You

**INADMISSIBLE EVIDENCE**

* * *

Written by: **Sunrays** _and_ **Moonbeams**

Beta'd by: Moonbeams

Spoilers: Nesting Dolls

* * *

**Part 1: What Worries You**

* * *

In his years as a coroner and a CSI, Gil Grissom had witnessed people breaking down upon being told of the death of a loved one. He'd seen the tearful reunions that came when missing person's cases ended happily. It was important in his position to maintain a professional distance in front of people as they went through "the best of times, the worst of times." He was good at it. He'd put up good, strong walls to protect himself from all that emotion. They worked well. 

Sara Sidle was good at it, too, most of the time. Occasionally, when she was particularly invested in the outcome of a case, or if she'd pulled too many doubles and exhaustion had all her emotions closer to the surface than she'd admit, a few tears would fall. She'd look aside, embarrassed by them, and discreetly wipe them away.

Grissom had seen her cry tears before, but this wasn't just the shedding of a few tears, gone and forgotten after taking a moment to collect herself. He'd never seen anyone sob so pitifully. Seeing Sara like this, his carefully constructed walls threatened to collapse. In the back of his mind, he recalled the description of a high intensity earthquake on the Mercalli scale: "structures destroyed."

He found it difficult to breathe. He felt the emotion building in his throat so thick he didn't dare speak; she would surely hear the depth of emotion in his voice. He couldn't let that happen. It was the last thing she needed.

At the same time, he felt foolish and childlike. What this woman did need was comforting; she did need someone to do more than sit silently across from her while she wept. All he'd been able to do was take her hand. Grissom knew he'd mentally note the moment as another reason why he shouldn't ever take their relationship past a professional level.

_Another item on the list,_ he thought in dismay. _That list is as long as my arm now._

He'd stared at her for the longest time until she somehow pulled herself together, yanking her hand free of his to wipe her tearstained face.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, blinking back the last of the tears. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips trembling ever so slightly.

"Don't apologize," he'd managed. He watched her get up without another word, and she headed down the hall. He heard the click of a door closing and the sound of water running. He concluded she'd gone into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Finding himself unexpectedly alone in her living room, he wasn't sure whether he ought to leave now or stay.

_She took off for the bathroom pretty quickly. She might not want to see anyone – see me – after her…episode. But if I go, it'd be like abandoning her. Should I really leave her alone, given the state she's in?_

Grissom's eyes fell to the coffee table, and he absently picked up a card from the deck: the nine of clubs. He placed it on the ten of hearts, adding to the game of solitaire that Sara had left unfinished before he'd arrived.

_You're doing it again,_ Grissom thought sadly. _She needs you, and you're sitting here playing games._

He stood slowly, looking around the room. Glancing towards the door Sara had disappeared into, he wondered if he should knock and ask her if she was all right, if she wanted him to stay or go. He got within three feet of the door but stopped, instead turning and walking over to the window to stare outside. The sun had long since set. Before he'd arrived, the sky had been lit in hues of yellow and orange; now everything was swathed in deep sapphire blue, without any sign of stars.

He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch. His shift started in less than an hour; he'd have to go soon, whether he wanted to or not.

_Sara shouldn't be alone right now, _he reasoned, smoothing his sleeve back down over his watch again. _Maybe I should call in sick._

His eyes wandered the apartment, momentarily drinking in the warm colors of everything around him as he realized how much her world contrasted with his. He glanced down at her desk. It seemed she'd been drafting a letter of resignation and that she'd been having a hard time of it: several of the paragraphs were scored out and rewritten, then scored out again.

_I won't let her resign over this, _he promised himself._ The lab needs her. I need her. _He'd spoken or thought those two sentences many times before. Something felt different about them tonight.

His eyes caught a pile of photographs jutting out of a brightly colored yellow packet, and without thinking he picked the packet up. He removed the photos carefully, making sure not to leave any smudges on the glossy finish.

The photos didn't seem recent. He recognized the lab's break room. There was a birthday cake, icing letters proclaiming "Happy 30th Nick."

_These are from four years ago, _Grissom thought as he continued to flip through the photos. He found himself envying the happy looks on his co-workers faces, in spite of himself. Catherine's lipstick was all over Nick's cheek, and Greg had icing on his face.

Grissom noted straight away that he himself wasn't in a single photo, and couldn't remember having attended this small staff party at all. _They must have done this on my day off, _Grissom decided, feeling somewhat crestfallen. He couldn't even remember having been told about it.

He felt a pang of jealousy that he hadn't been invited. Not that he'd have attended anyway, but it was the principle. _How did they even manage to have this party without me ever finding out about it?_

As he continued to flip through the photographs, he imagined the conversation Greg was having with Warrick, the joke Nick must have told that had Catherine laughing so hard tears were running down her cheeks. All of them were similar; all of them told the story of a tight-knit group, one he was part of, but only on the fringes. He was almost through the stack of photos when he came to one that had him mesmerized.

It was a picture of Sara: laughing, her hair in careless waves, her eyes sparkling and full of life. She looked alive and happy, more vibrant than he remembered ever having seen her before. Everything about her exuded beauty, confidence and verve.

The emotion he'd been feeling earlier returned to haunt him right then, starting from the pit of his stomach and working it's way up to his throat where he had to swallow it back. He had not seen her look this happy in a very long time, and a sense of guilt washed over him just to look at the photo now.

_Look at her. When was the last time she was this happy? When was the last time she laughed that way? _

Grissom pensively ran a finger across the photo, caressing the image of Sara's face. _She used to smile for me like this, once upon a time. Before everything went to pieces._

He swallowed again, forcing back the emotion. _Even then, she was dealing with the same kinds of cases. She didn't break down under the strain._ He traced the lips on the photo. _Why now? What got to her after so long?_

That was the answer: things building up over time. How many suspects had he interviewed who told the same story? "It was one little thing after another. It finally got to the point I couldn't take it any more."

Still trying to put it into perspective, he thought back. They'd done performance reviews regularly but she'd never said anything. _Not that she'd have told the whole story during an evaluation,_ he thought. _Maybe she thought it would be unprofessional,_ _but under the circumstances, I might have been able to do something for the good of the lab…_

"For the good of _the lab_?"He could hardly believe that thought had crossed his mind. And he shouldn't have had to wait for _her_ to tell _him_ she had a problem. As a supervisor, he should have been able to see what cases provoked extreme reactions from her. As a human being, he should have been able to see someone in pain and tried to do something to help. Her words rang in his ears; he suddenly realized why she wouldn't have said anything, especially not to him.

"I choose men who're emotionally unavailable."

At the time, the words hadn't sunk in although Grissom had heard them. They registered just enough for him to push them aside for later. _She said it and gestured to me. She meant me. I'm emotionally unavailable. I'm part of the problem._

Grissom shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.

_If I were more emotionally available, I'd have comforted her the way Nick or Greg or Warrick would have. I'd have held her, stroked her hair, and told her I'd do whatever I could to make her pain go away. But I didn't. I took her hand. That was all I could do. I am emotionally unavailable. That's all I'll ever be._

He heard the door to the bathroom door lock click. Sara, who'd just taken him into her confidence as no one ever had, was about to discover him violating her privacy. Without even thinking, he slipped the photo of Sara into the inside pocket of his jacket, returned the other photographs to the packet and placed it on the desk where he'd found it.

Grissom moved away from the desk just as Sara returned to the living room, her eyes still puffy, but her face free of tearstains. She'd pulled her hair back and damp tendrils curled around her face.

"Sara, I…" Grissom began; he wanted to ask about the letter of resignation she'd been planning to write.

"Yeah…?" Sara asked, her voice weak. She looked and sounded like a different person. Tears and splashes of water had cleared whatever makeup she'd been wearing away. Grissom had always suspected Sara might look several years younger without makeup, but right now she looked so much older than she was. She was barely a shadow of the real Sara Sidle, and it broke Grissom's heart.

Grissom hesitated for a moment, trying to properly formulate the question. Finally, he managed to speak. "Is there anything you want to tell me about?"

_There. I've given her a chance to bring up the subject of her resignation. I've given her an opening to say anything she wants now. I just hope it won't open up a whole new can of worms._

She looked at him, standing near the desk; he could see the change in her expression as it dawned on her what he meant. Sara moved over to the desk slowly, shaking her head as she went. She said nothing as she tore the piece of paper from the notepad, crumpled it up in both hands and tossed it into the waste paper basket under the desk.

He was almost relieved to see the emphatic way she'd disposed of the letter. Not that it meant she wouldn't start another._ Doesn't matter, _he thought_. If she tries to hand me her resignation I won't accept it. I can't let her quit; she's worked too hard to go out this way._

"I have to go to work, Sara," Grissom stated quietly.

"I know." Sara gave a nod; she was looking at the floor. Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes anymore, but he could still see the worry etched into her face. Now that the anger had all been unleashed, now that the tears had fallen, the weight of everything that had happened the previous night was bearing down on her.

Grissom wanted to ask her if she'd be all right after he left, but he couldn't work up the courage; he didn't want her to think he didn't trust her not to make any stupid decisions after he'd gone. As often happened, an appropriate quote came to mind. He licked his lips then spoke softly.

"Sara, what worries you masters you."

Sara gave an ironic half-smile, her eyes averted from his. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's fired."

"I said Ecklie _wants_ me to fire you."

"Yeah…" Sara nodded.

Grissom forced a smile. "I didn't say I _would_. Ecklie already split the team up once. I'm not about to lose any more CSIs."

Sara raised her eyes to his finally, the concern still etched on her face. "What will you tell him?"

Grissom gave a shrug. "I'll think of something. Maybe I'll blame it all on my bad management skills. It makes him feel superior when I admit I'm in the wrong." He smiled a little at the thought.

Sara frowned a little, "He'll fire you instead."

"He might go so far as to threaten to. I doubt he'd go through with it." Grissom smiled wryly and he glanced at his watch again. "I'm afraid I must leave now."

Sara led him to the front door and opened it for him, watching as he stepped outside. "Grissom…"

Grissom turned and looked at her, standing just outside the door. His eyes met hers and he held her gaze.

"You're a good supervisor."

Grissom managed a little smile. "A supervisor is only as good as the team he has behind him, Sara. And he has to stand behind them as well," he added, hoping she'd realize he wasn't just acknowledging the good work she'd done over the years.

Sara didn't respond; she looked away again, standing at the door.

"Take care, Sara. Use the week well," Grissom said, trying his best to sound sincere but fearing it would come across as forced. He didn't wait for her to say goodbye to him; he simply left.

He knew he'd be late to work, but he didn't care. He spent a good five minutes in his car, staring at the photo he'd taken from her apartment.

And as he missed her, he realised his worries were beginning to master him.

* * *


	2. Cake, Coffee, Keys and Culpability

**INADMISSIBLE EVIDENCE**

* * *

Written by: **Sunrays** _and_ **Moonbeams**

Beta'd by: **Moonbeams**

* * *

**Part 2: Cake, Coffee, Keys and Culpability**

* * *

_**One Month Later**_

It had been a tough day for Sara Sidle. She'd been called in early then stayed late; the result was a long, complicated fourteen hours on the job. It wasn't the overtime she minded: the extra pay was always nice, and it wasn't like she had much of a social life. Then there was the fact that being at work longer was always bearable when it meant spending the majority of the shift with Gil Grissom.

But this one shift had been more draining on her than usual and getting home after that shift had been a nightmare. She'd been unable to avoid a construction zone near the lab; being stuck in traffic only added to her frustration. By the time she'd arrived home, she was exhausted but too tense to relax into sleep. It finally came after a longer-than-usual soak in a lavender-scented bath, followed by a bit of breakfast and an hour with her current bedside reading, "Nabokov's Blues".

"Wha-?" She awoke with a jump, rubbing at the itchy spot on her cheek. Something white stood out against the chambray blue pillowcase. Bleary eyed, she identified it as plaster. Looking up at the ceiling, she could just make out the place where it had been moments ago. The footsteps from running kids upstairs rattled the glass shade on the hanging ceiling lamp.

Sara got out of bed and padded to the living room to peer out the window. A bunch of brightly colored helium balloons was tied to the light post beside the front sidewalk: the international sign for a kid's birthday party. Above her, the running feet began to coordinate into rhythmic stomping. She looked up, narrowing her eyes as she concentrated on identifying the song that inspired the coordinated mayhem.

"Spongebob. Just what I always wanted to have stuck in my head."

With a sigh, she resigned herself to being awake again, but the party couldn't last more than a couple of hours, tops. There would still be time to get in a few good hours of sleep before shift.

* * *

**_Three hours later_**

* * *

The music wasn't very loud, but she felt more than heard the steady vibration of the heavy bass. As Sara struggled to focus enough to read the bedside clock, she heard the unmistakable sound of her neighbors in their bedroom, engaged in… 

"Oh, my God," she groaned, rolling on to her side and pulling a pillow over her head. She was fortunate that working the graveyard shift meant she missed their "performances" most nights. Unfortunately, they did occasionally indulge in an early show.

Having had very little recuperative sleep, she staggered in to work with what was beginning to feel much like a hangover. Not that she enjoyed being hung over, but it did normally indicate that she'd been enjoying herself some time a few hours previous. Today she'd done nothing of the sort.

Sara glanced toward Grissom's office as she passed by; the door was closed and there was no light coming through the blinds. After leaving her jacket and bag in her locker, she headed off towards the break room. Maybe she'd find him there, pouring a pre-shift cup of coffee or working a crossword.

Sara entered, wondering what this evening's coffee blend might taste like. _Will it be caffeinated cat's urine? Gasoline mixed with tar? Or Grissom's less-than-favorite: motor oil?_ The only person she found there was Catherine Willows. Seated at the table with her feet propped up on a chair, she was surfing through news stations on the television.

"Hey, Sara," Catherine said, somewhat distractedly.

"Hey, back." She took a sip from the cup she poured herself and winced at both the heat and the flavor._ Caffeinated cats urine._

Sara had little patience for Catherine anymore. For the majority of their working relationship, they'd gotten by with only the occasional disagreement. Sara supposed that was to be expected from colleagues. The argument in the hallway a month previous left Sara with a slight irritation that she'd been unable to ease away. As much as she hated holding grudges, this was one she just couldn't seem to release.

_Giving forgiveness is easier than holding a grudge,_ she told herself. It had become her mantra over the past few weeks, enabling her to communicate with Catherine in a professional way while at work. Sara concentrated on sipping her coffee, wishing for the effects to be more immediate, wishing for her exhaustion to disappear, and wishing for Grissom to make an appearance so she could get her work started.

"Grissom isn't here yet," Catherine said, as if she'd read Sara's mind.

"Oh," was all Sara could manage, feeling rather uncomfortable standing with her coffee. Even in their silence, the tension from their falling out still seemed to linger in the air. Sara tried to force herself to think of other things. _Greg isn't here yet either; I didn't see his car parked outside. Can't even go see what he's done to his hair today. _

Catherine stopped surfing, watching a news report for several minutes. The topic was stalking and the segment featured an interview with actress Meg Ryan who apparently had been stalked at one time. Sara sniggered when it concluded and the anchor began introducing the next story.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking. She played a woman stalking a guy in a movie, and ended up being stalked herself. Kind of an ironic twist."

"When did she play a stalker?" Catherine turned and stared at Sara strangely.

"Oh…" Sara paused, trying to remember the name of the movie. "What was it called? It's been ages since I thought of it and I didn't get much sleep today…wait, that's it. 'Sleepless in Seattle.'"

"That's a romantic comedy. It's not about stalking." Catherine looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Sure, that's how it's billed, but in the story she writes a letter to this guy she heard on a radio show, she gets his name through her connections as a reporter, hires an investigator to follow him then flies to Seattle and finds him. Look how many boundaries she crossed."

Catherine took a moment to think, then raised an eyebrow. "That never occurred to me. Watching that movie it's so easy to get caught up in the laughs and the romance…"

"Romantic or not, she was stalking the guy," Sara smirked a little.

"And _we_ know, probably better than most, how people can rationalize almost anything," Catherine grinned. "Selective morality, based on perceived circumstances and motivation."

Sara nodded in agreement and felt the slight tension in herself ease, having had this brief conversation with Catherine. It almost felt like old times, but Sara knew that wouldn't last. She would have liked to believe she and Catherine had gotten past the events of the previous month, but things were never that simple.

Catherine's cell phone rang and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall caught Sara's attention. She glanced towards the windows that looked out into the hallway to see Grissom striding past with his briefcase under his arm, a folder a handful of mail and messages in one hand. She poured the foul tasting coffee into the sink, dropped the paper cup into the trash and left to go get an assignment from her boss.

Grissom walked down the hall in his usual distracted way, glancing through the pile of assignments that would fill the day's shift. Sara walked five feet behind him, unnoticed and unheard.

_How long could I go on walking behind him without him even noticing?_ Sara wondered. She smirked a little and quickened her pace until she was walking just three steps behind him. Grissom was still far too preoccupied with what he was doing to even notice her presence.

Sara kept up her pace and tapped him on the shoulder just as he arrived at his office door and was fishing in his jacket pocket for his office keys. At her touch, he jerked away, looking over his shoulder, a startled expression crossing his face. It was only momentary, vanishing when he saw it was her.

"I thought nothing surprised you," Sara teased.

Grissom frowned, but his face softened and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Apparently I was mistaken. But I _was_ distracted by some good news. I've been invited to present at an entomology conference." He unlocked the door and entered the office. She took a seat in front of his desk as he hung up his jacket, pleased to hear the enthusiastic tone in his voice; she hadn't heard it in some time. Putting the briefcase and papers on his desk, he finally sat, taking up the letter he'd just received and delivering the most important information about the event. "They have a great cockroach race, it's in Cincinnati and King's Island is open for the season, so…"

Sara realized she was expected to put together these vital pieces of information and respond.

"So, there's points to the lab for having a renowned expert in the field invited to present, a chance to prove the superiority of your racing bugs and what I can only guess is an amusement park close by. That'd have to mean roller coasters. Sounds like Gil Grissom's idea of a perfect trip."

"Very good," he responded with a smile. It faded slightly as he took his first good look at Sara. "You look tired."

_God I hate that line. When a man says 'you look tired', what he means to say is 'God, you look like shit,' _Sara despaired

"My upstairs neighbor had her kid's birthday party this afternoon. Then my next door neighbors were…" Sara paused, not exactly wanting to go into detail about their early-evening activities. "They were just noisier than usual. I didn't get much sleep."

Grissom accepted her answer, still looking a bit concerned. "Well, I'm assigning you with Greg today. He ought to be able to keep you going through the shift."

"Greg?" At best she'd hoped to be working with Grissom, at worst she'd hoped to be soloing in the field. She didn't have anything against Greg, but right now she felt she didn't have the energy to deal with him.

"He learns more easily when he's with you. He claims I make him nervous," Grissom gave a wry smile.

"Can't imagine why," Sara remarked, trying to laugh it off while hiding her disappointment that she wouldn't be working with Grissom tonight.

Sara took the assignment he held out to her and went over the details quickly. Grissom gave her a quick rundown of the case but she wasn't listening. She was already dwelling on the fact that she had a whole shift ahead with Greg by her side.

"Sara?"

Sara blinked herself out of her reverie. "Sorry," she said, forcing a smile

"Greg called me on my cell as I was driving in. He's running late. He should be here any minute." Grissom's tone, while not exactly dismissive, indicated their conversation was over and that she should be ready to leave once Greg arrived.

"Okay." Sara glanced at the assignment sheet once again, then back to Grissom. He was already occupied with looking through a pile of reports. Sara felt deflated; they'd been having a pleasant conversation but there was no point in trying to continue it while waiting for Greg. "I'll, uh, see you later." She feigned a cheerful tone, gave a smile he never looked up to see, and with that, she left his office.

* * *

**Later that night**

* * *

The shift was dragging, and Sara wasn't sure if it was exhaustion that was making the night go slowly, or just her general aggravation with Grissom and Greg. 

Greg was being typically Greg. Normally, she'd find it amusing, but she didn't have the energy to tolerate his behavior tonight. Every time he made an inappropriate joke or comment about their case, she felt like snapping at him. Her patience was wearing thin but somehow she was able to hold her tongue and not say anything at all. Sara knew all too well that having it out with a colleague made for some very uncomfortable work situations later.

Going over an abundance of photos from their crime scene in one of the layout rooms, Sara was trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. Her mind kept drifting elsewhere, her lack of sleep continuing to take its toll.

"Hey," came Grissom's voice from the doorway. They both raised their heads to see him standing there, his hair ruffled, which suggested to Sara he'd been somewhere there had been a high wind.

Greg gave him a nod of acknowledgement; Sara forced a smile.

"Hi."

"Have either of you seen some keys lying around anywhere?"

"Keys?" Greg asked, placing his hands on the large illuminated table.

"On a silver, beetle-shaped key ring. And there's a small silver pen knife," Grissom replied. "It must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere."

"I haven't seen it," Greg answered.

"Could you have dropped them when you were out on the field?" Sara suggested. She leaned forward on the table and became conscious that Greg, who was standing on the other side of the table, might have a good view down her shirt so she straightened, trying not to be too obvious about it.

"I hope not," Grissom frowned, the right side of his mouth twitched.

"Are they your office keys?" Sara asked.

"No. For my house and a few other things." Grissom sighed. "If you see them…"

"We'll let you know," Sara gave a winning smile, and hoped he'd return it, but he didn't; he simply turned and left the room.

"Wanna bet ten bucks they're sitting on his desk?" Greg asked. He had a magnifying glass raised over a photo and he was staring down fixedly.

"Betting is Warrick's thing," Sara snorted. She rubbed the back of her neck. Leaning over the table had left her neck with an ache and when she rolled her head she heard a small crack. A quick check of the time showed more than an hour until her regular dinner break time. "I need to move around a little and get a coffee. You want some?"

"I don't drink CSI coffee," Greg laughed. "Tastes like—"

"Caffeinated cats urine," Sara finished. "Of course, if you'd just tell me where you hide your personal stash of good coffee I could make you some," she suggested.

"I'm out," Greg responded quickly. "I was gonna pick more up on the way in tonight but then I was running late so I didn't get a chance to stop."

Sara made a face and left the room, hands in the pockets of her long black cardigan. She yawned. Everything around her felt hazy and bright. _The sooner I get more coffee in my system, the better._

Not surprisingly, the coffee pot was empty so Sara rummaged in the cabinet for a filter and packet of coffee, rinsed the pot and started a fresh batch. She took some consolation in the knowledge that while it would still be awful, it would at least be hot and not hours old. Rather than sit and wait for it to brew, she decided to take a quick walk through the halls to try to stimulate her circulation a bit.

At the front desk, she waved at Judy who was, as usual, busy on the phone. Turning back the way she came, Sara caught the glint of something shiny on the floor by the leg of one of the chairs in the waiting area. She paused, looking at it for a moment, then moved over to inspect it. A silver beetle was staring up at her, amongst an assortment of keys.

_You didn't look too hard, did you, Griss?_ She thought with a smirk as she picked up the keys from the floor. The keys gave a jingle as she raised them to examine the beetle-shaped key ring. She ran her fingers over the back of the beetle, studying the tiny scratches in the silver, probably from years of rubbing against the keys.

Sara stopped at Grissom's office on the way back to the break room but he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding that she'd see him at some point, she shoved the keys into her pocket, patted it with a smile, then continued on her quest for caffeine.

She took a seat at the table with the cup of coffee in her hand and sat back comfortably, sipping delicately. As soon as it was cool enough, she drank the rest quickly and tossed the paper cup in the trash.

Sara checked her watch; she'd been gone less time than she'd have guessed and decided to take a few more minutes. Maybe she'd start to feel the coffee's effects soon. Still, exhaustion was pulling her every which way and she was tempted to settle in one of the seats, fold her arms on the table and lay her head down. The thought of getting some sleep right now was more than appealing.

She shifted in the seat, trying not to think about the sleep her body was in dire need of, and heard the unfamiliar jingle of keys in her pocket. In need of distraction, she pulled them out of the pocket of her sweater. Weighing them in her hand for a moment, she examined the silver beetle key ring and ran her fingers over the thick, bandy legs of the thing.

_I wonder how long he's had this?_ She turned it over so she could examine the belly of the silver beetle, spotting a hallmark proving it was sterling silver. She then checked out the penknife, surprised to see Grissom had clumsily scraped his surname into one side; the other side had 'LASD' engraved into it.

"Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department," she muttered, remembering that he'd gotten his start working at the LA County morgue as a teenager. Not that he'd told her this himself; it was from his "official department bio" and had been mentioned in almost every newspaper article written about the bigger cases he'd worked. She found herself smiling at the thought of a young Gil Grissom, personalizing the memento and still carrying it all these years later.

There were five keys on the key ring. One she recognized was for his work locker; she had one of those, too. There was a small key that looked as if it might fit some kind of small cupboard or drawer, and a large antique looking key she was sure was probably older than she was. In addition there was a car key, bearing the GM logo but it was an older key so it wasn't for one of the county's vehicles, and finally, a run-of-the-mill house key.

She ran her fingers across the key. This wasn't _just_ a key; it was the key to his house and his life. She imagined herself walking up to his front door and letting herself in, moving around quietly and examining all the rooms she'd never been in.

_It'll never happen,_ she thought. With a sigh, she pocketed the keys, and went back to work.

**

* * *

**

**Ninety minutes later**

* * *

Licking the last of the butter cream frosting from her fork, Sara was glad she'd abandoned thoughts of a deli sandwich in favor of a sugar fix. The 24-hour bakery, well known for wedding cakes any time of day or night, offered slices in their coffee shop; she'd just finished a serving of her favorite, filled with sliced strawberries and Bavarian cream. While still very tired, the flavors, the sugar and the comforting smell of baked goods had Sara in a better mood and ready to face the last part of her shift. She left with one errand to do on the way back to the lab: a mercy run to Starbucks for Greg, who was missing his gourmet coffee and beginning to show uncharacteristic signs of grumpiness. 

The lights from the store next door caught Sara's attention as she pulled into the parking lot. The large pane window was filled with a display of keys, padlocks, lock fittings and key rings. Above the window, a neon sign boasted "24-Hour Locksmith & Key Cutters." Getting out of the car, she patted low on her hip to feel the keys in her pocket, to hear the chink of metal on metal. She still had Grissom's keys safely tucked away there. The sign reminded her she hadn't yet returned them; it also gave her an idea.

_Is there any way Grissom would know if I had a copy made?_ She took the keys out of her pocket and looked at them. _God, this is absurd. Why would I want his key? It's not like I would just let myself into his house. That's just…wrong. It's more than wrong. It's illegal, and it's a violation of his privacy. There are so many reasons why I shouldn't even think about it._

Even as she was thinking it, she was moving across the parking lot away from Starbucks. Clasping Grissom's keys firmly in her hand, somewhere in her mind she'd already decided to do it, even as the other parts of her mind were screaming "no."

_I won't use the copy;_ _I'll just hold on to it. Like a little part of him I can keep that he won't know about. _An electronic tone announced her entry and a voice from behind the service counter announced he'd "Be right there." She shifted uncomfortably as she stood, certain she'd be caught in the act. She was aware of wondering how the minds of criminals allowed them to do far worse with no feelings of guilt.

"Miss Sidle! Good to see you!"

"Ron. Hi. I didn't know this was where you worked." The man who appeared behind the counter was an acquaintance: she'd run into him from time to time when he'd been called in to install a lock on a new door or window when the original had been taken as evidence. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd know anyone here; she quickly realized that in the small world that was the graveyard shift, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"Yup. This is my shop," the older man announced proudly. "And how may I be of service to you tonight?"

"I need to have a key copied." She willed herself not to tremble as she slipped it from the ring and handed it over. "Will it take long? I'm on my way back from dinner break and I have caffeine-deprived co-workers waiting on me."

"It'll just take a few minutes. Why don't you run next door and get your order there? I'll have it done by the time you get back."

True to his word, Ron handed her the original key and the copy in a small brown envelope. She was relieved she wouldn't accidentally confuse them and put the wrong key on the ring. Slipping the original key back on the ring, Sara took care to make sure it was in exactly in the same place it had been before, between the antique key and the locker key, while Ron rang up the purchase and got her change.

Relieved that Ron had asked no questions, she sat in the parking lot for a moment before tucking the envelope in the CD holder strapped to the visor and pulling away. During the short drive back to the lab, guilt began to eat at her.

_I should just ditch the stupid key. Throw it down the drain, or hand it over to Grissom and say I had a spare made for him in case he ever lost his keys again. Would he buy that? _She thought about it while sitting through a red light._ Probably not. Grissom has observed people far too long to be blind to an obvious lie. _Nervous that it might fall out of her pocket or be otherwise lost in the building, the key remained in its place when she returned to work.

She found Grissom's office door open and heard him moving inside. Trying to appear relaxed, she sauntered in, carrying the caddy holding three Starbucks coffees.

Grissom was standing at one of the shelving units, feeding something to a tank of large, rather ugly looking Madagascar hissing cockroaches. An unpleasant sickening smell filled the office, and Sara was immediately thankful she hadn't eaten anything from the deli; the thought of throwing up egg salad on Grissom's carpet wasn't pretty.

"What is that smell?" Sara winced.

"Dog food."

"Even a dog would turn its nose up at that," Sara distanced herself from Grissom, who was holding a Tupperware dish and forking dog food into the tank. She had to laugh at herself for being disgusted by the smell of dog food when she'd come across so many things that smelled fouler.

"These guys don't seem to mind it," Grissom commented as he closed the lid on the tank, put a lid on the Tupperware dish, and shoved it in the mini fridge he kept in his office.

Sara tried to breathe through her mouth as she watched him. "Brought you a cup of coffee. Starbucks."

An expression of relief appeared on Grissom's face. "Thank God. I thought I was going to have to drink another cup of that stuff in the break room."

Sara grinned, removing one of the cups from the caddy and holding it out to him. "This is guaranteed to taste like real coffee," she promised.

Grissom took the cup from her gratefully. His fingers brushed against hers momentarily and Sara felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She chided herself on feeling so moved by a simple accidental touch.

"Oh, by the way, I, uh, found your keys," she said, pulling them from her pocket.

Again, he looked relieved. "Where'd you find them?"

"Down the hall, near reception. They were by one of the chairs just past Judy." She tossed them over to him and he caught them with his free hand. He looked at them quickly, confirming they were his, then placed them on his desk as he remembered what had happened.

"She'd just handed me the letter about the conference. I was anxious to see what it was, so I put my briefcase and jacket on the chair to open it. They must have fallen out then." He sighed and continued. "I'm glad to know they were in the building. I was beginning to worry they'd gotten into the wrong hands." She thought of how Paul Millander had obtained, and used, Grissom's fingerprint. She suspected the notion had also crossed Grissom's mind.

"Well, thank you for the coffee," Grissom said, "and the keys."

Sara turned and managed a quick "You're welcome" before leaving. When she was safely out of the sight of Grissom's office, she leaned against the wall. She was beginning to see the key, still in the little brown envelope in her car, as a betrayal of whatever trust existed between them. She nodded her head, certain of her intent.

_I won't use it. I just want to have it. I won't use it._

She pushed off the wall and went in search of Greg to deliver his coffee.

_I won't._

* * *

**End of Part 2**

* * *

Thanks to the 5 lovely people who were kind enough to review for the first part of this story: csi-ds9, c.roy, Bella-Bug-Babe, Phoenix 38133, and Teenwitch.

Big thanks to my co-author/beta/creative advisor/friend Moonbeams for all the hard work she poured into this part. :)

Ash


End file.
